Ill Met by Moodlight
by Theta Waves
Summary: The air around your head buzzes with ambient noise and screeches while humidity and steam plays about your face. The smell of moisture and sickly sweetness fill the air and soaks into every surface. All of your senses are both dulled, and sharpened. Are you in a rainforest? A jungle valley? Try a karaoke bar.


Ill Met by Moodlight

The air around your head buzzes with ambient noise and screeches while humidity and steam plays about your face. The smell of moisture and sickly sweetness fill the air and soaks into every surface. All of your senses are both dulled, and sharpened. Are you in a rainforest? A jungle valley?

Try a karaoke bar.

Hey, someone in your group, probably John, decided, where can a group of twenty-something's get drunk and have the most fun they possibly can? A karaoke bar, of course! You were swept up with the tide of your compatriots, and charioted into this dank bar in which the only light by which you could see was the neon flashing signs and colored spotlights upon the stage. It's good that you couldn't see for the most part, because otherwise you would have to watch Dave make a damn fool of himself.

You don't remember who decided to cram all 8 or so of you into this one tiny booth. What you _do_ know is that you are not nearly intoxicated enough, and since you hate the taste of alcohol, it's a sticky position. And that was not a pun about how the seats are sticky.

You feel an arm snaking around your waist and hugging you close, and you turn to Jade beside you and smile faintly. She looks back at you and grins while tipping the glass to her mouth. You guess things could be worse…

You roll your eyes and sigh, and pick up your own drink and take a hesitant sip. Jade laughs and kisses your cheek and you can smell the faint liquor on her breath. The flush on her cheek when she drinks was so… cute. You gesture to the stage so that you can both watch the new performer, John, was absolutely killing _Love is a Battlefield_.

"I wanted to stay home," you tell her, leaning close. You did, places like this made you nervous. You wanted to stay in with Jade.

"Well, too bad. We're out with friends tonight, so don't ruin it!" she admonishes you sweetly, applying another quick peck, this time to your lips. She leaned a head on yours and laughed at her ecto-brother. The night wore on.

You slumped in your stew of smoky air and vocal discord and burned out drunken fools and bad 80's hair bands, feeling justified in your grumpy self-righteousness. One by one and two by two you watched your friends rise and more often than not bump peoples' drinks over on their way to the stage, where they would shout to the DJ, and often spilling drinks on other tables on the way.

It's getting late, and the karaoke master is calling for last tribute—volunteers. Thank god that's about to be over

"Karkat," Jade loops her arm to yours in an attempt to tug you out of your seat, "we're going to do karaoke, come on!"

"No way," you tug back and stay firmly in your seat, "that's for losers. Like all of our loser friends who made idiots of themselves doing that."

"Karkat!" She huffs and furrows her brow at you. "That's the point! You're supposed to look like an idiot ever once in a while!"

"Karkat, you've got to do it, she's your lady after all," Dave encourages from across the booth, your other friends follow suit, but you stand firm.

"Nuh-uh, nothing doing, pal." You squash your butt down as far into the seat as it can go and Jade frowns at you while still holding your arm.

"Karkat, pleeease?"

"You can if you want. Don't come crying to me when you look like a fool." You admonish as you turn your head just to avoid meeting her eyes, that might be too much. You can see your friends' disapproving looks.

Your girlfriend's shoulders drop, and her hands along with them. She pouts just a little more before bouncing off to the stage, shouting 'fine!' over her shoulder. You watch her go almost a little regretfully as you watch her black waves bounce with her, dress and jacket flowing. She stops off quickly to mention her song pick to the DJ and mounts the stage.

"Karkat, she really wanted to sing with you…" Kanaya begins from across the table, "Would it have been so much to ask?" You know she's right

You shrug in response and breathe out, going back to watching Jade to avoid their faces. The only one you pay real attention to is Jade's. She's holding the stem of the microphone and almost swaying on the tiny stage in excitement. The lights are on her, as well as every patron's eyes. You catch her eyes and she seems angry for a moment, but it washes right away from her face, and you'd like to think she understands. But that's bullshit, because you're the one who was an asshole. She grins and breathes in, music begins.

It's twangy guitar, roughly from the 80's, you think. The song is familiar, with its driving drumlins and guitar, along with other, stronger percussions that accompany Jade's onstage dancing. Dancing is a weird word for it; she's sort of… throwing her arms about and spinning, moving her hips and bopping her head around in a fashion that was almost (who are you kidding, _completely_) adorable.

And then the outro ends and vocals begin. She's singing of 'the days we sweated out on the streets of a runaway American dream' and how at nights you ride through 'mansions of glory and suicide machines.' Truth is, you couldn't give a goddamn about the lyrics, you just want to listen to her voice. It's…smooth. Silk over the tongue and to the ears. She floats from high notes to lows, and throws her body with the music and in shakes up through her lungs and the results are a wonderful, soulful thing. Maybe it's better you didn't go up, you wouldn't be able to_ see_ this… You would later be informed that she actually hadn't been all that great a singer. You didn't believe them, though.

The crowd loves her. Cheers abound, and more than a few catcalls which enrage you, but seem to be put down my patrons with more conscience, and you're grateful for them. After long enough into the song the cheers settle and there's an almost religious watching of this beautiful raven-haired girl on stage singing "Born to Run." They're probably thinking what you're thinking. But they're not, because she doesn't look at them. She looks at you. She's the center of your world, yet adored by untold legions of the infinitely more deserving than you, and picked you. In your periphery you see the eyes of your group flitting from her to you and back, and you almost believe there's some credence to believe that the electricity, dare you say love, flowing back and forth is visible.

_We'll run 'till we drop, baby we'll never go back. _She winks and she moves across the stage, jumping and dancing in time, hair flaring out, stretching and shouting to what you later learned was the unofficial New Jersey anthem. There was an amazing quality about Jade to be comfortable wherever she was; she was ready for anything. If you were all dropped off on a desert island, she'd find the water. On a stage surrounded by strangers she performed and breathed life better than any public speaker. She threw herself completely into this, into everything. How could you help but love her? She rocks it. Perfectly.

Before everything goes wrong.

Maybe watching eyes didn't bother her until right then or maybe there was a technical error and the lyrics were gone from the display. Maybe something canine held on in her brain and she got spooked by something. Whatever happened, she froze. She froze in motion and tried again to start and hit an awful high note and stumbled on the words. Your heart froze. You jumped in your seat and spilled your drink all over.

There was no help from the crowd; you could see the panic in her face when she didn't know what to do. And then the worst thing happened; people were shouting.

Shouting and booing, those same people who moments before were loving her turned on a dime, after a moments slip-up. Something in your blood boiled while something else ran cold, with fear, not for you, but for her. The only ones silent are those at your table, who sit in a stunned silence. Despite creating universes, perpetrating double homicides, and forging planets, this was a problem that you hadn't the faintest idea on how to deal with.

How could you have let this happen? Didn't you warn her? How can they possibly boo her? _Her?!_ She's looking around the room for an out, for _anything_, when her eyes meet yours. Her irises of livid green lock onto yours and you dared not let go. She was scared in a way you'd never seen. You felt nothing but guilt.

_Damn you, Karkat, _you thought, _why do you let everyone close to you get hurt?_ _You're supposed to be a knight, why the fuck won't you fucking act like it?_

It only took you a moment to decide what you were going to do. In fact it was so split second that you were already schlepping through tables and chairs as your mind fully confirmed it. Your eyes never left her. Not even as you hoisted yourself awkwardly onto the stage and stood by the other mic. You stood two meters away from her, and the bar fell silent from confusion, including Jade.

The DJ was the only one who had any idea what was going on, and turned on the second mic without you even having to ask. Romantics have to stick together I suppose. You actually thanked him when you left the bar later. You looked over your shoulder in contempt at the crowd and swiped the mic off the stand, and took one, deep breath before swinging around to Jade and jumping the cliff.

"_'Cause tramps like us! Baby, we were born to run!"_

She seems almost to lean back in surprise at you while the music resumes. Little did she know you knew the lyrics by heart, as any self-respecting person should. The music covers the few whispers and chuckles in the crowd. You don't care about them, you care about her.

A smile is born there and the nearly runs you down on her jump over to you. You keep singing, albeit terribly, leaning into the mic as she dances around you and you follow her face as she dances and jumps. She's grinning at you. This might be your sole great achievement. There's a break in the music and Jade jumps to the edge of the stage, pointing skyward.

"_One two three four!"_

And she's back to you, singing in your face, hair flowing madly, feet stomping. There's a sudden tenderness in her face and she grabs your collar to pull you in close while you sing of highways jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive. But the lyrics from a little bit later strike you the best and you absolutely croon them to Jade with all the feeling you can muster.

"_I'll love you with all the madness in my soul!"_

That was it. That was _it!_ This was your song to her. You were mad and imperfect and you were bound to screw up so bad, but with all the energy and power behind your crazy and neurotic brain, you would love her. It's your song.

She almost screamed with laughter and leapt into your arms, taking you completely by surprise, and she continued singing from her place propped up on you. You spun not so much for dramatic effect as much as all that weight thrown on you was bound to do so. She kept singing and singing her heart out, looking skyward and down at you. You sang when you weren't too captivated to be silent.

The music closes with a flourish of drums and lyric-less vocals that Jade bellows from above you before jumping down and out of your arms to place her forehead on your and her hands on your shoulders. She pulls you in and kisses you hard.

Strangely enough the crowd is cheering. Love trumps talent, I guess. In your memories there's confetti and dazzling lights, but really it was just a stinky karaoke bar. After she removes her lips from yours she wraps you up in a vice grip bear hug and whispers to you.

"I'm glad you were willing to look like an idiot for me."

"I guess it's just because tramps like us, baby we were born to run." You tell her softly before leading her by the hand down the stage steps. There are strangers clapping and cheering and trying to get close, but you've only got eyes for each other; the bar might as well be empty. Despite cries for an encore, you lead your girlfriend back to a warm bar seat, a group of smiling friends, and a much needed drink; a round that you pay for.

January is a cold ass month to be walking home in. Even the meager alcohol in your bloodstreams, the chill bites your exposed cheeks and neck. Jade's always been smarter about that; armed for bear against the cold in earmuffs, and adorable mittens and a scarf. Her right adorable mitten is folded nicely into your hand. A perfect fit, you both like to joke.

You both trail along behind the strung along group of your mutual friends on the otherwise empty sidewalk. The only light present was that of the dim streetlamps that show themselves off in sheens along the road and drifts of snow walling the pavement. The sky is moonless, but all of the lights in the city surrounding banish the stars from the sky.

You didn't realize how dusted with sweat that dive had made you until you left, and even in your coat you could virtually feel the beads of perspiration turn crystalline on your skin. Jade seemed like sweat was giving her a problem too and leaned on your shoulder all the while.

"It was really sweet of you to make an idiot of yourself in front of the whole wide world for me in there, Karkat" She said as she pushed against you playfully, taking you by surprise and nearly knocking you off the sidewalk.

"You mean I wasn't always an idiot?" You reply as you take your balance back. You wait awhile before adding, "There was no way I could just stand there. No one gets to laugh at you. Not while I breathe shitty karaoke bar air."

She scrunched her face up in a giggle and kissed your cheek. "My knight!"

"And don't you fucking forget it!" You half grumble, looking down at your sneakers.

You didn't even want to go out tonight. The sidewalk is slick with ice and there is little real light by which to see. Your stomach hurts and you'll have a headache in the morning as you always do after drinking. You smell like ozone and sweat and cheap beer and there's a cold wind cutting in.

But there's a girl who you love, a girl who you would sing Bruce Springsteen in a crowded room, holding your hand right now, and you think you'd belt out Bruce Springsteen for her for a televised audience because she loves you back.

And you were born to run after all.


End file.
